shout, scream
by public service announcement
Summary: I hate her. I hate her. I love her. — risasatoshi, satoshirisa. satoshi-centric. au. one-shot. complete.


**shout, scream**

* * *

…

She seemed untouchable. She seemed unbreakable. She seemed _perfect_.

And that bugged him.

Sometimes it made him want to holler out at her, insult her, dare her to show a single flaw. Dare her to show a vulnerable side, something to prove that she was actually human. Humans weren't untouchable, like _her_. Humans weren't unbreakable, like_ her_. Humans were far from perfect. Real, life humans—people… _people_ made _mistakes_. People did bad things. People misbehaved. People regret, reminisce. People hurt _other_ people. Humans cried. And as far as _he_ knew, she hadn't shed a tear in her life since birth.

She was always _smiling_.

She was always _happy_.

And that bothered him.

He wanted so much to bring out a fault in her. He wanted so much to show the human side of her that he practically made a vow. He made an oath. He promised himself, that he would reveal a sense of _normality_ within that girl. He would show everyone, once and for all, that _she_ was not equivalent to a perfectly tuned instrument—that she was far from the unblemished, untarnished, unimpaired porcelain doll everyone had believed her to be. _He_ refused to believe it.

No one had the adequacy of being potentially perfect—and she was no exception.

He kept that vow.

He kept that oath.

He kept the promise to himself.

…

It was at twilight when he approached her, a glowering, smug look playing his pale features. The descending tangerine sun served as an ambient backdrop for the two as he bore his cold blue eyes against her gemmed, preciously polished cinnamon orbs. He felt taken aback once he found himself a mere two feet away from her, appalled at her milky skin, her dark earth-brown hair that tumbled past her right shoulder, her simplistic pink sundress.

_This_ was the girl he harbored venomous ardor for.

But did he harbor another feeling for her as well?

He had almost instantly brushed the sickening thought away, having to remind himself the matter he had yet to accomplish. His smirk returned, paying no heed when he only earned a gentle smile. It roused his stomach with an unknown, inexplicable sensation. Then he took a step towards the paradisiacal being—ember and competitive determination dancing in his eyes.

As the sun evaporated from the horizon, he walked away from the docks triumphantly.

_He_ had found a flaw. _He_ had found imperfection within the girl. And it seemed so easy!

_She_ couldn't _swim_. And when she had so willingly confessed her weakness, he seized the golden opportunity to mock her—badger her—look down on her as she seemed to do so towards all other human beings. That was it: she _truly_ was human. She had a foible part to her. She wasn't indestructible. She wasn't immortal, imperishable, incorruptible. She couldn't survive in water!

And he laughed and laughed for days, seemingly on the verge of insanity—all hail _him_.

All hail _Satoshi_.

…

…

Though now he stood, his face vacant of expression or the slightest trace of emotion. His hands were jammed into his pockets and yet curled into tight fists. He was standing on the same dock he had approached her, forcing her to expose her weakness, a simple result related to water passing through her soft lips. He was standing, remembering. He was standing with regret… for he had forgotten the part he had so wittingly thrashed an insult at the girl, daring her to go out for a swim. Of course, she declined that afternoon—that twilight.

He was so _stupid_.

Because _she_ wasn't _here_ anymore. He had used her fear of water against her, and triggered a sense of upset perseverance within the girl. He had agitated her. He mentally, emotionally _hurt_ her—he hadn't realized it until now. He hadn't known how wrong his sick oath was _until now_.

It happened at dawn.

She had disappeared within the frigid depths of ocean water, her body swallowed into azure oblivion for eternity.

He would never know that venomous ardor was a passion called love.

_She_ was _human_. _She_ was _flawed_.

_He_ was human. _He_ was a person—amongst people. Real, life humans—people… _people_ who made _mistakes_. People who did bad things. People who misbehaved. People who regret, reminisce. People who hurt _other_ people.

And Satoshi had made a mistake.

He did a bad thing.

He misbehaved.

He'd live to regret it, and reminisce it.

And he had hurt _another_ person.

_Risa_… who was just as human as he was.

—f _i _n _i _s h _e _d—

**author's note;; **'Tis a boring simple (wet) winter here in the good, ole peach state, and I've been dreaming of the beach and the ocean and so I just vomited this up.


End file.
